little bluebird ( wmmap )

𝗍𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖾 . 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌 𝗅𝖾𝖿𝗍 𝗎𝗇𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽

𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒
★                           𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖾
( abuse, gore, forced eating, and vomiting )

        The little prince was four, his small pudgy legs grew to be narrow and his face lost the baby fat it once had. The nanny grew harsher with age, especially because the young prince refused to speak at all. Only using gestures and motions. Achilles lived up to his name, each time he was asked a question and refused to answer, a thick ruler would strike down on his calves. The wounds grew more agonizing by day, and welts of purples and greens decorated the soft flesh. Achilles didn't care for the pain, as much as it hurt, he didn't give in to their sadistic satisfaction often.

    His body was still weak from malnourishment and was always slightly shaking from his ever-growing hunger. In his old life, Achilles counted that he was able to spend four days without food till passing out, in this life he had to build a tolerance for it again. Just like his pain tolerance too, he had to build that up again— the slightest touch hurt. It made his eyes tear up in anger— how he wished his beaten down legs could run far away from this manor.

   Achille's room grew a foul smell, spits of blood splattered on the floor and dirt crawled up on every corner. The bed was out of the question so in this life again, Achilles would curl up in the corner on the floor— his body with only sheets covering him. The maids didn't care if his skin was coated in soot or if his tears stuck to his cheeks. No one cared again, just like last time.

   The gods were punishing him for a reason unknown.

   " Achilles!" A towering, angry, voice of Helena screeched. It would be eleven months and two days until she died. A happy feat if Achilles said so himself. The stomps were loud as the frail boy curled up into himself. " Come here."

    The blonde didn't move, he physically couldn't. The last time he ate was two days ago and he was all too weak— if he tried, he was likely to pass out. The nanny didn't try to understand as she clicked her tongue, her rough hands gripping his forearm with force. "Let's go."

    Achilles truly didn't know what he did, so he let his small body be dragged forwards. He hated this place so much. He wished for fire to reap their souls, and Achilles wanted to watch as they all died. Achilles could only cast his gaze to the gleaming kitchen floor as he stood in front of the cook, a ratty man who reflected such a description. The cook— Vemin— was a pudgy man with bright orange locks, his eyes were always in slits and his mouth was sneering. In his past life, Vemin once dropped boiling water onto his arms. It wasn't pretty.

   Vemin would make wonderful meals, with sweat smells and amazing tastes. However, he made and gave those to the workers and himself. Achilles got the scraps— Vemin would call him piggy for eating them like a starved person, which he was. The man stood above him, eyes crinkling with a terrifying amusement Achilles had seen before.

   A muffled whimper left his lips as he tried to turn around to flee, smelling something foul filling up the kitchen— which was kept spotless unlike his ward of the estate. " Piggy, you didn't eat your meal? Was it not good enough for a prince?"

   Achille's felt his eyes widen in horror, he didn't fully eat a meal that was about to go bad days ago. The rotten smell took over his nose as the man brought a plate down, the amusement in his eyes growing. A cry left the reborn boy's lips as he tried to wiggle from his nanny's hold, backing away from the disgusting meal. " Come one, look— you should be grateful."

   His heart pounded in his ribs as the pudgy man grabbed a fork from the table. Scooping into the rotten meal and bringing the tender meat towards the boy's pursed lips. " Helena, he needs to eat. Open his mouth for me."

   A loud cry left Achille's lips as fingers pried his small mouth open. His eyes watered and clenched as the rotten and foul meat was forced into his mouth. Achilles tried to spit it out, yet Helena placed her hand in front of his mouth. Forcing his jaw to chew the rotten food with amusement. The chef watched the thrashing child with a chuckle, grabbing the rest of the meat and dumping it on the floor. Helena pushed the boy down, her heeled foot on his back. " Eat."

    Achille's cried out when he tried to protest, the heel digging deeper into his back. Laughter rung in his ears like jarring knives, pushing him to eat the food off the ground like a dog. The chef never went this far in his last life, Helena did— but differently. He wailed out as his face was pushed into the old pork, bile rising in his throat. Forcing himself to eat the meat with tears falling down his cheeks, Helena let the small boy go. Watching as he fled from the room with his body shaking and his face pallid.

   The small prince ran towards the doors, as he'd be punished if he made a mess inside, and let himself dry heave into the green grass as he wailed. His throat grew raw as his stomach rolled even as nothing but a white liquid come out— the smell and taste of rotten old pork still fresh in his mind. Achilles curled up in a ball in the grass beside his puke, the small boy wanted to move but he was so exhausted. After twenty-two years of living like this, he wanted it to end again.

   Coward, his head cackled, So much of a coward, you won't even end your misery

   Tears pearled in the corners of his eyes as he laid breathless, body limp and expression hollow. He was a coward, and that was the only reason he lived so long. Soon enough, his frail form shuddering with the cold air prickly his grubby skin and weariness filled his empty heart.

   All this for nothing.

   Beady eyes watched him from the forest edges, widen in horror and disbelief as the small child cried himself to sleep. The boy looked small enough to crush with one hand and his bones poked out of his cheeks. The Prince truly looked hallow in both mind and spirit.

Edited: May 12/22